2019-08-13 - High Stakes Indeed


Phobos gets it into his head to do some training. He's interrupted by a Ninja.

Log Info:

Storyteller: None
Date: Tue Aug 13 23:25:38 2019
Location: The Bowery

Related Logs


Theme Song




When something keeps nagging at the back of your mind it's hard to ignore it. It provides a steady background noise to your life even as you try to get on with everything. Just a subtle bit of pressure that brings a memory back to the fore, to trigger a smile at its realization, or a grimace at its portent. For most people it's music. A song that sticks with them. But for the youth known as Alexander Aaron… it's a single moment in time.
It was a moment shared recently. Tinged with tension and dramatic weight. A demonic creature holding a small woman in her armored form, a staff held in her hand. He'd relive it in slow motion, spending at times minutes considering small aspects of it. Small changes that might have made an impact.
And usually there's only one way to exorcise such a memory that demands the attention of the consciousness.
In the Bowery there were many old buildings that had been converted from what they once were during the fifties. This one, some five stories tall and built from well-worn red brick, it had perhaps been an old textile mill or clothing factory. A place where several families likely made their fortune and then sold off their holdings. Sold them off to a man whom they likely had no idea as to his true identity.
It had been rented out over the years. But the last seventeen or so it had been held vacant. At least the top floor. Held open for it was there that in times past… a man and his son had trained together.
Up the old steps Alexander had claimed that late evening, backpack over his shoulder, footsteps thumping. Upwards to the sliding door that had a heavy padlock on it, though it gave way to the keys held in the youth's hand. Then it slid open revealing the open floor that was bereft of furniture. Empty of decor. Save for one thing. A single short sword that had been stabbed into the wall, covered now with dust and cobwebs.
It took him several hours to clean up the place. Sweeping, mopping the hard wood floor, the windows pushed open to let some of the air in and the stagnation out. The neighborhood hadn't seen that old building brightly lit at such an hour in several years. It was a beacon against the skyline, though its windows were painted over so as to block any sight within. All of the windows save the one in the ceiling, an elaborate skylight that took some cleaning. But once done it was pleasingly clear.
The easy part done he had then changed. Black hakama worn upon his legs, a loose white shirt that had only one sleeve, with a black silk cord laced around his shoulder down to his hip as if to hold a blade. The formality of the thing drew him back to his training, to his focus. And then when the time was right… he held a sword in hand that had not been there. He marked the area on the wall with his gaze, studying where the sword was imbedded…
And then he threw the blade, whirling it across the distance for it to slice into the wall and thrum next to that other sword.

Ranna Pryde has taken to lurking in Staten Island. It's there that Shiranui has been haunting, after all, and Shiranui is her mission. To neutralise and retrieve for the Order of Si Fan. Ranna is a loyal daughter of the Order.

Isn't she?

Tonight though, she's tripping across the rooftops in the Bowery - following a lead she'd picked up. Dressed in dark, clothing - not armour like many others wear - the dark haired ninja has a scarf pulled over the lower part of her face and is barely noticeable as she moves through the shadows.

It's the glint of light on the sword as it flies through the air that catches her attention. With what seems like an effortless leap and tumble, she lands in three point crouch, not far Alexander, dark eyes assessing the scene.

Alexander might have heard that disturbance even though the woman is incredibly silent.

There's a slight tilt to the youth's head as she alights. Just enough or him to turn to the side just so. A small furrow mars his brow for an instant. A moment passes as she watches, but then he turns away and begins to walk across the room in several steady strides.
The blade slides free of the wall cleanly, held loose and light in his hand. Rarely do others get to see him in such a way. His overly baggy clothes normally hiding the precise lines of musculature along the curve of his back and his one bare arm. Shoulders broad and with a small latticework of old injuries that have left their mark upon him. Whipcord lean and firm in stance, his features are handsome but in this moment almost foreboding with that look of concentration to him.
He then rounds away, stepping back. Moving precisely to where he had stood but a moment ago. He turns and looks at the wall, that other sword. He focuses, and then throws. It's a whipcrack of clean movement, such easy grace in his body that it is almost as if he were twisting through a step in an old dance.
The blade impacts, but off now, twisted slightly to the side. As easy as that he could have cost that young couple much. With his hubris. He frowns then starts again to step across and reclaim the blade.

Ranna is silent as Alexander moves, head cocking as the youth throws that sword again. "Swords aren't designed for throwing, you know that right?" She asks. Her voice is accented, Japanese maybe? Something else? "Most swords are designed for slicing. If you want to throw, you should have different weapons."

All very sensible.

"Don't twist your shoulder when you throw." Some advise at least.

Turning to look at her as she offers her advice, Alexander stands there with the sword in hand, and checks its grip as if giving some thought to the words offered. With such an emptiness to the room, so few aspects to draw the eye, it is almost picturesque as he stands there blade in hand. Like some depiction meant for a cathedral, angelic, only missing the flare of wings.
Yet when he smiles, it robs the weight of that moment. It humanizes him despite the subtle feeling of the ethereal around him. "I know." He says, around the smile as he shakes his head slightly and looks away, then back to her askance. "Just trying to clear my head."
A beat as he looks back towards the wall with the short sword impaled. He pushes the blade into the surface, slicing cleanly and then leaves it there for now. "See if I made a mistake."
But then to her he asks, "Who are you?"

"You made a mistake. You threw your sword." Ranna answers, rising from the crouch to her full 5" in height. "You disarmed yourself and from what I see you have nothing to defend yourself when you do." She might be joking, teasing, but it's hard to tell.

"Why are you trying to clear your head by throwing your sword. A very nice looking sword if I might say."

The question to her identity gets a raise of a dark shrouded shoulder "Ryoshi." Now the light plays across her face, he can see the fading bruises that cover her the top part of her face. "And you, if we're doing introdcutions?"

"Well," And that smile shifts a touch, vibrant and intrigued as she declares he disarmed himself. "It was a spur of the moment thing," And to be fair it worked out. But it was a risk. Perhaps too great of a risk and that may well have been what was preying upon his thoughts.
But then he gives a nod as she compliments Grass Cutter, his nod given in turn as to agreement, but his pale blue eyes remain upon her. And then the asking of his name gets a response, "Alexander."
For some reason she does not draw that awkwardness. Not at the moment somehow. As if here, in these surroundings, he has the freedom to be himself. "I am pleased to meet you Ryoshi." He says that almost as if it surprised him as well.
Yet he turns away and looks to the training hall? Dojo? So hard to tell considering the lack of decor and history. But there are hints to it. Small scrapes in the wall and floor. The subtle scent of steel and blood and sweat that lingers in the old wood.
"It's been a long time since I've trained." A true effort to train, beyond the playing gently with others. "Long time since I've been here." Despite his apparent youth. "I felt drawn back."

"A long time hmmm?" Ryoshi comes further into the hall and looks around, eyes moving from sword to youth to wall. "Spur of the moment things in fights are often not to be desired. Though improvisation has saved more than one person. Are you training now then?"

The woman moves lightly, even for her size - though Alexander will note there's some stiffness. "And a long time? Are you talking years or months?" She's teasing his age, most assuredly. "If you're serious, you should train every day. It's the only way to truly improve and become a master."

Before he knows it, she's turned and from under her sleeves metal scales flow to form a serrated tooth chakram - just one. One that is tossed and sent spinning into the wall.

It hits, right where his sword has before and where it should be.

"That. Is a weapon for throwing."

The blade whispers past him and imbeds into the wall, vibrating with a resonant thrum that causes the short sword near it to shiver faintly in its place there. And he turns his head to follow it, then looks back down the line of its flight to find her eyes that might be alive with that vibrance hidden as she teases him so.
"I find myself learning things, so I must be training?" He takes a step to the side and then walks bare foot upon that hard wood floor, footsteps very quiet though the wood creaks faintly. One hand lightly touches the chakram and he quirks an eyebrow at her, as if asking permission for him to touch her weapon. And if she allows it he'll twist it just enough to free it from the wall.
Several more steps carry him back towards her and he extends the weapon back, tilting his head to the side, "But pardon me, it seems you might have some doubts as to the quality of my studies. Are you here to test me?"
A challenge? Assuredly, but gently given with that smile though there's a hint of the devil in it.

"There is training and there is training." Ryoshi answers quietly. "As I'm sure your instructors who once inhabited this would have told you. Do you wish to play at learning or do you truly wish to learn? My instructors called it Sweat Equity. The more we sweat, the less we bleed."

There's a slightly sour look as a thought crosses her mind, but it's soon gone as her dark eyes watch his rise to the Chakram. She nods. Once.

The metal of the chakram is a dull silvery colour and looks like metal. Though it feels a little different to the touch. The edge of the disk is serrated and will cut cruelly if someone were hit by hit - that's how it stuck in the wall.

"Clearly your studies are lacking. You're trying to throw your sword and not hit with it." She answers. "Would you like to be tested? It has been many moons since I have done such a thing."

Shiranui doesn't count.

As she speaks she can see his eyes, calm and blue yet there is something alost alight to them as she continues. The words offered are meant to be hard, stern, perhaps words of warning. Yet his features settle into a look of peace and the hint of a smile.
Shrugging his bare shoulder a little, just enough to slip a finger under that loop of silk cord curled around it, he undoes the small knot that holds it there and then removes it from its place. It frees up the fabric of that form-fitting white top, but lets him move more freely. The cord is tossed to the side with barely a whisper of fabric, then he turns back to her.
"Ryoshi, I would welcome any test you would have me face. And I thank whatever fate has seen you here tonight." He turns his hips slightly, hands held low. Not quite settling into a stance, but readying and leveling his focus fully upon her. His lips part briefly as he moistens them, then he nods once.
"I would only ask you not to hold back." Which, coming from a youth whose abilities she seems to have judged as wanting, might seem foolhardy.

Are they meant to be stern? Ryoshi is certainly soft spoken enough. Alexander can't see the quirk to her lips - covered as they are by her face mask, but he can see the slight crinkle of lines at the edge of her eyes.

He might regret those words as she calls her Chakram to her - the disc spinning through the air of its own volition to her hand, the serrated edges disappearing to something smoother - and sharper. "Are you sure, Alexander, you don't wish me to back?" She's given him warning, as a second disk flows from metal under her other sleeve.

"Very well then, young one. Have at it." There's not sign when she moves. One moment the woman was standing there, holding the blades in her hands, the next, one blade spins out from her hand again, doing a circuit around the room before returning to her.

Has Alexander worked out just how much he's bitten off?

For a moment his eyes hold hers, and when she says those last few words she'll see the glimmer in his eyes as he replies. "I'm almost twenty," As if that would truly make a difference. And perhaps it's meant to offer a touch of levity, a rejoinder of his own to add a hint of a mental hiccup into the moment when she strikes.
Apparently it does not work. As when she turns that blade slices out cleanly slashing across the distance and menacing him with its vicious edge. Enough to make him sway backwards smoothly, one hand reaching down and back as he stops himself from falling over, evading that blur of movement.
Then he twists back to his feet even as the weapon is returning to her hand he closes the distance with a quick stride and a half-leap that has his fist coming in quickly from on high. He's almost a foot taller than her, good reach, strong.
His hands stiffen as he strikes at her wrist, though she withdraws cleanly and counters. He turns his hips to the side letting that chakram brush past and rip his top with a faint growl of torn fabric. Then a knife hand striking towards her elbow, seeking each time to try and use his reach, to angle her weapons in such a way that they might get in the way…
But she is much too well trained for that. It's a blur of movement as each stands before the other, quick strikes almost like twin practicioners before a Shaolin training dummy. Hands impacting but brushed away, shifted to the side. A turn and his foot lifts and aims at her shin to try and force her on her back foot and then his shoulder seeking to try and break her balance.
She can tell he is better than she likely thought him. But what is more, this little jerk is pulling his punches as when he has connected… it has been firm, but not painful.

Ranna is quick and the use of her chakrams are inspired. When the blade spins back to her hand, she engages stops for a moment - the metal of the blades flowing back up her arms. Leaving her as unarmed as he is.

Striking and blocking, Ranna parries Alexanders hits and holds her own, getting a feel for the youths level of expertise.

Better. Much much better than she expected but she's pulling her own hits as well. For the moment. "Almost twenty. A veritable age." She answers most seriously. That's the extent of the banter though as she moves.

When the kick comes, the black suited woman jumps to avoid it, flipping herself easily and landing, dropping to a crouch and sweeping his own leg - hoping to use his momentum to bring him down.

She'll feel the impact jolt up her leg as she connects cleanly with his ankle, enough to twist him to the side, breaking his balance as he spins. A palpable enough hit that she might be readying the follow up. Though he recovers masterfully, accepting the twist and the turn, continuing through it with the inspiration of momentum and brings his off leg up and around.
It's a wickedly fast hook kick that comes in and around toward the side of her head and only the barest of moments for her to slip back and out of the way. Missing its mark it hits the ground with a short sharp /stamp!/ of impact.
And then like a bowl of water that had been sloshed to the side in one direction, it lends him power when he flows back in the other as he uncurls and a fist lashes out toward her chest with palm flat, seeking to perhaps strike and push her back. Not hard… but it allows him to pose there, one leg far to the side almost in a split as the other is bent and supporting his weight, his body low to the ground with that one fist extended fully.
It's then that he smiles as he replies, "Not so much as perhaps, thirty?" He's fishing as he then adds, "When one starts to slow down and get tired so quickly." Oh that jerk.

Ranna turns with the sweep, using her hand to balance her - which helps her avoid that follow up kick. Not that it bothers her. Taking her lumps is part of the training - and Ryoshi has taken her fair share.

The turn continues, bring her up to a stand again, just in time for the hit to her chest. A hit that never quite hits, as she falls back, tumbling again and coming back to a stand - seeing him take that pose.

"Nothing wrong with thirty … Life is just beginning, after all." She leaps then, a telekinetically aided jump that puts her behind him, hands landing on his shoulders blade and shoving.

A wry laugh slips from him, and it lights his face up making him seem all the more human despite the preternatural ease with which he moves. But then she's leaping, taking flight in the air and flipping over him. His eyes widen a touch as he realizes that that is not a leap a normal person could meet. And then she lands and gives him a /shove/ that sends him stumbling, each step accompanied by a small laugh.
his isn't right, fighting shouldn't have laughter! Perhaps some aspect of his training rails at him. But he ignores that voice for now as he turns to face her again, hands held up and ready, one forward more than the other and open, while the other is closed into a fist and held back near his jaw.
"Mmm, but at thirty your sweat equity tends to have to be paid out more, neh?" He motions with a nod, perhaps intimating that she's worked up more than him. But then he darts in, a quick series of strikes thrown, left, right, then his leg drawing back as the hakama flares and he lashes out with a side kick aimed to check her defense.

"Age and treachery will always outsmart youth and skill." Ranna quips, watching the youth as he laughs. Training … shouldn't be fun. It's deadly serious stuff. That's the lessons that were instilled in her. Enforced by the tech the Order had put in her head. Though whether that works as it should now, she really doesn't know - the last time all it had done was crippled in her pain.

With Alexander taking up his stance, Ryoshi does too, watching the youth with careful eyes.

The rush comes - almost as she expected and he'll hopefully be surprised to find her not there as he kicks.

She's tumbled again, impossibly or so it seems, and landed near the wall where his sword is. Her eyes are laughing and taunting him at the same time.

It's a clean disengagement as he twists and fires that kick she rolls and flips backwards, landing near those two blades set in the wall. He turns to face her, hands still held defensively as his eyes seek hers, looking between each irises as he smiles crookedly.
Not dropping stance he closes with her, a step, another, paying her that respect of holding his guard at the ready. "Well you have at least one of those down." He tells her with a twinkle in his eyes. He shifts his stance a little, rising taller and lowering his hands to both being open and forwards, an aikido stance if she was familiar with such.
"Maybe you'd fight harder if you had something riding on this?" He tilts his head slightly, amused as he asks, "First one to say uncle has to tell the other their full name?"

"According to you, I have both of those down." Ryoshi answers, hand resting on the hilt of one of those blades. "You threw your blade and gave your opponent an unnecessary advantage." Her own eyes twinkle though.

"I'm not the only one who was holding back." She notes at his next words. "Do you think I need to fight harder than I did? I could simply keep moving and get you to exhaust yourself." He's better than he presented though and she'll give him that.

"You have my name. I am Ryoshi." If she has any other name, she's not saying.

"Are you asking to spar more than, Alexander?"

Straightening up he tilts his head to the side looking at her. She is so composed, so seemingly utterly in control and speaks towards what infallible methods she would use to defeat him. His hands lower a little, resting upon his hips as he looks to her.
"To be fair, it takes a lot more than you could offer to exhaust me, Ryoshi." Her name is said with a hint of emphasis, as he then adds to those words, "I had assumed you perhaps had a second name. I didn't know it was like Cher. Or Bono."
He steps to the side, now folding his arms over his chest. "We could set our own boons? If I win…" He draws his lower lip between his teeth, worrying it thoughtfully as he looks to her, even as she oh so casually toys with the hilt of one of those blades. Then he gets a smile as he says, "I would like to see your face."
He uncurls a hand towards her, "And what would you ask of me? If anything."

Alexander can see thoughts play over Ryoshi's face - comments that occur to her and she discards quickly enough. Clearly none of them worth voicing or perhaps … none appropriate to voice given his youth. "More like Beyonce, actually." she quips.

"No weapons? More hand to hand?" She clarifies as he thinks on the stakes. "I would know where one as young as you has such weapons. They are not usual, I can tell that."

"What do you consider a winning strike?" She agrees at least.

Still with arms folded he leans back against the column that supports the room, watching her closely. Her eyes are expressive, but she gives so little away with the mask that hides her features. Yet he is clearly intrigued for some reason. Perhaps the mystery, or the subtle edge of danger. Whatever it is, the answer she draws from him is accompanied with a half-smile.
"Hand to hand might be best," Considering how Grass Cutter can behave. But then he tilts his head, "First one to tap or surrender… or to acknowledge that a strike one had landed could have been lethal? I trust you to be honest in such."
Since really if they are not going to play fair… then what's the point?

"Hand to hand then." If he's intrigued, Ryoshi hasn't noted it particularly. Perhaps because those in Staten Island are intrusive. "To first tap or blow that might be lethal." She's human, enhanced for psy-kinesis, but still squishy.

With a last look at the swords, the woman moves lithely back towards the center of the room, gesturing with both hands for Alexander to join her. The stance she takes is simple, her eyes wary. "Well then young pup. Show me the skill and enthusiasm to overcome my age and treachery."

Pushing off of that column he steps out onto the floor along with her, moving sideways to keep some distance from her, then turning to ace her. He'll mirror her stance, watching how she shifts her balance, gauging her reach and the movement as she makes ready.
First he squeezes his fists tight, causing the knuckles to crackle subtly, just a low cartilaginous sound as he meets her gaze. Something in her eyes, beyond what she presents. Perhaps it is that danger that he finds intriguing. Or perhaps it's simply been a long time since he's matched himself against someone.
There's a single nod given to her, as if to let her know he was ready. And then in the next instant he closes the distance with three quick steps, uncurling his legs with a series of low kicks aiming to get her to retreat as he then twists to the side, uncurling a back fist at her side.

Ryoshi doesn't retreat, probably much to Alexanders surprise. If she knew *who* she was really dealing with, she might think twice on it but she doesn't and the brunette isn't one to back down from a fight.

The first connects with calf as her own forward motion puts her inside the taller mans reach. Dropping into a crouch, dropping her shoulder, the woman grasps the lapels of his 'gi and pulls him forward, trying to flip him over her hip.

Do the unexpected. That's what she was taught.

She accepts those kicks, just the dull /thump/ of impact but she's able to push through them, ducking in and angling her shoulder as she moves in. It's when he's turning, that backfist slicing the air above her that she's able to slip close and grasp each lapel. At first there's resistance as she draws on the fabric, the jacket parting as she begins her twist to try and slide him over her hip. One of his hands goes to her shoulder but that just lets her decide which hip she wants to throw him over.
It's a brief moment, struggle encompassed in a sliver of time. Each of them straining against each other, the warmth of the other felt through the fabric and the subtle scent of exertion, effort, and the old wood of the aged training hall. His eyes find hers and in that instant she'll see such defiance, but it's combined with a silent laugh as if the surprise was present enough.
And then the world returns to norm as she brings him down upon the hard wood floor with a heavy /whumpf/. His back arches as one eye scrunches with a hint of pain, breath rushed from his lungs in that instant. But his training is so precise, muscle memory so strong, that he breaks the fall with one hand letting go of her to extend and hit the ground heavily, breaking up the force of the throw.
Though now he tries to draw her down with him to the side, leg entwining to try and break her balance and aid his own counter-throw.

Ryoshi is hurt - there's not two ways about that. She took the kicks and the hit to get that advantage and Alexander can certainly get the counter throw.

It's almost as if she's expecting it, using the momentum she's generated with the throw to continue the tumble. Her aim, is to break his grip and continue the tumble, rolling back to her feet and away. He's taller and stronger than she is, that's for sure.

Rolling to his feet, Alexander takes a moment or two longer than her, one hand planted upon the floor and helping to push himself back up. It gives him just enough time to regain his breath as he rises, hands coming back up and open towards her. "Treachery, huh?" He says, lips twisted into a half-smile. Since true, it did pay off in that moment.
Yet he shakes his head and takes two more quick steps, more cautious this time as he tests the range and throws two quick jabs, just enough to keep her honest as he slowly begins to circle to the left.

"Age and treachery." Ryoshi agrees. She's wincing as tortured muscles and bruised bones protest but yet she turns and takes up position again, watching the youth as he starts to turn. "Always beats youth and skill. I told you." She's so quiet. Assured. He must know that he hurt her though.

There's going to come a point though, that he's likely to overpower her, just by being younger, faster and stronger.

If she's going to 'win', she'll have to be quick about it and do it soon. Maybe he'll give her another opening. Though … he seems to learn.

He does seem to be holding his left hand low, a faint distance out of line and to the side. The fingers of that hand tensing and releasing as if suffering from a faint nerve sting that must have landed in passing. Then he steps in and there's a blur of movement as he draws a leg up and tries to land a knee then an elbow. Not hard, but enough to check a counter.
Only when the counter comes and she tightens up against the impact of the knee, it lets him get close enough to grasp a hold of one shoulder from above, the other beneath and he twists with her. A smooth turn and hip throw similar to her own, but aimed more for him to hit the ground with her, both dropping with his side across her and her upon the wooden floor. Not as hard as she dropped him, though. Because he is nice.
There's a brief moment of struggle as he tries to maintain the dominant position, and he says simply. "Give up?"
Though it's in that moment his brow furrows as he meets her eyes. Then he sacrifices leverage to lift a hand to that mask and draw it down with just a fingertip. Unfair, assuredly. But he seems taken aback for that moment as he looks into her eyes. A moment where he's fairly vulnerable.

To be fair, the throw that Ryoshi had executed wasn't a slamming one either! She'd controlled his fall as much as she could but PHYSICS!

It seems that Alexander can learn and uses her tactics against herself. Be where you're not expected. Do the unexpected. And he does.

Too fast for Ranna to use any of her enhanced abilities to get out of the bind, the woman falls - finding herself held by his larger frame. Flashing eyes meet his, as she struggles to break the grip. "I don't have any choice, do I." Ryoshi mutters as he draws the mask down.

Why taken aback? She can read that in his expression but doesn't understand it. Still, he's vulnerable - and that lets her scramble free …

For a time he'd sort of looked at her and this look of confusion had touched his features. Just not exactly understanding. It was a moment when a braver man assured of himself would have perhaps thought some sort of flirtation was in order. But, Alexander, he just seemed puzzled for some reason. As if this didn't make sense at all.
Then he shook his head and as she scrambled free he drew back and let her up. "Sorry that was…" His attention is split, somewhere else for a moment. But then those blue eyes find her again and he says quieter than normal, but with a hint of a smile. "Kind of treacherous, right?" The humor returns, but there's still a ghost of whatever had passed over his grave that caused that reaction.

Ranna is breathing heavily as she draws herself to her feet, leaving the mask down around her neck for the moment. "Don't apologise for winning. That was the objective. You achieved it." She might almost be amused except, you know, she got ass handed to her by a youth. Shiranui would laugh at her *again* and tell her to rethink her life.

She always seems to pick the fights she can't win.

"Very treacherous and you learn quick. Have you had your fill of your prize?" It's an unimpressed tone she's using as she backs towards a window. Her face has the yellowing shadows of fading bruises - testimony to her last week or so.

"I um," He sits up, though he's kneeling upon the floor, the hakama gathered around him. He smiles a little, but the ease of the back and forth seems to have fled, though. For some reason he seems off balance, that calm confidence and assurance replaced with… something that seems entirely his age.
Though then he tilts his head slightly, rising to his feet. "I'd like to see you again." There's sincerity in those words, but some aspect of them might even seem to surprise himself. It's tinged with that vulnerability of a person daring to tell someone that they like them? But also not knowing if they should. For whatever reason.
Then he adds with a smile that is meant more to deflect with humor as he adds. "Unless you're… you know. Married?" Since well, she's old.

Maybe Alexander is just more confident when he's fighting. Ranna's familiar with that phenomenon. Much like her implants make her ultra focussed when The Project tech is utilised.

"You would huh?" She finally says, pulling her mask back over her face. "I'm not sure what being married has to do with training …" Is she deliberately misunderstanding? Perhaps. She seems to relent. "It's complicated. My status. If you want to train though, I would like that."

He at least didn't beat the crap out of her.

"You can find me in Staten Island." Further to the window she moves, stepping up onto the frame. "Do you think you can do that, Alexander? Find me? Make that your next test."

A small twitch twists his features into more of a smirk as he folds his arms over his chest. He looks towards the closed windows, likely in the direction of Staten Island, then back towards her as she climbs into the open window. "I suppose we'll have to see."
But then when she's departing he lifts a hand to wave. It's only after she's gone that he says finally. "Bye." Though quieter and likely not meant for anyone's ears a'tall.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License